


Everybody Pepsi: Herald of the Next Generation

by hokaze



Category: Pepsiman (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Free advertising for immoral corporations, Gen, Pepsi, Takes itself so seriously and sincerely it loops back round into being ironic, Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2019-10-16 07:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17545019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hokaze/pseuds/hokaze
Summary: There are countless great turning points in history, the outcomes of which shut off potential futures and spawn yet more branching alternate timelines.There is knowledge mankind was not meant to discover, questions that should remain unanswered.Can a drink change the world? And more importantly, are we willing to let it?Will humanity ever truly reach the stars? If we do, will we still be human?Pepsiman has a message, but in a world full of strife and exploitation there may not be anyone who cares to hear it...





	1. Origins: From Darkness into Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate fic title: "I can't believe I'm writing fanfic again for the first time in years and it's the plot to Pepsiman 2"  
> Alternate chapter title: "I assure you, this fic is NOT sponsored by PepsiCo, Inc."
> 
> I do not own Pepsi, Pepsiman, Coca Cola, the existential dread that keeps my generation awake at night or anything else that's likely to appear in this work except the vague order the words happen to be in.
> 
> ...look, it's a Pepsiman fic, if you were expecting justifications or a well-reasoned argument for why this exists, you came to the wrong place. Context is the enemy, just take a blind sip and relax.
> 
> Pepsi for AO3 readers.

**The Beginning.**

A chaotic maelstrom in the heart of the abyss, the depths of the void churning and bubbling like some form of stardust stew, the first irregularities to hint at the universe to come.  
And over the aeons and explosions to follow since the creation of time and space, we would return to another dark bubbling elixir of elements.

The spark of genesis would strike a second time, and from the depths of infinite possibility the first life would evolve. Nurtured by the primordial soup, the children of stardust would rise up, all alone on their precious pearl floating in the sea of the void.  
Just like the great galactic gas clouds or burning fusions reactors twinkling in the sky, they would combine and clash, each fresh ingredient in the mix brining out something new. Something novel. Something more than just the sum of its parts.  


**Intelligent life.**

Was there a creator at work, carefully designing each concoction, some cosmic alchemist touched by divine inspiration following a recipe to life, the universe and everything?

We may never know.

But the pressure continued to build somewhere in the fabric of our reality and the inky waters of creation would once more vibrate with arcane energy, ripples in time removing all other alternatives until only one future remained.  
A future with a third such upheaval. Chaos in a realm of pure mathematics, bending every known law, every constraint thought to exist. Act three would perhaps be the grandest of them all, a masterpiece without equal, elegant in its unassuming nature and bold in a way that would defy all reason.

Once is a coincidence. Twice is chance. And the third time?

A pull of the ring, a satisfying hiss, a desperate gulp and hearty sigh.

  
**Pepsi.**  
  
Not that it was called that yet. Nor had the preferred cylindrical vessel come existence. Brad's Drink was a start, the introduction before the catchy chorus, the first crack of dawn before everyone had truly woken up.  
But humanity, those determined souls that blended the harsh lessons of evolution with the whimsy of the stars and the love of Mother Gaia's embrace? They found a way.

Accident or act of god, the world would grow to know and love the bubbling liquid whose impenetrable shadows concealed the future to come. The drink with no equal, with a light sweet touch to make even those shadows seem as bright as the sun, a reminder to man while at their worst that their hands were no longer for waging war, for throwing spears and brandishing technological weapons.

Nay, they were meant to create. To hold each other close. To point in awe, to wave to friends and loved ones, to climb beyond the tallest mountain and grasp the very heavens themselves.

It was not yet time. Many had tasted the message of destiny's herald, but few yet understood it.

For the third era to truly begin, for Earth to become utopia and for the trio of fate's inheritors to transform the rest of the galaxy into something truly wondrous...

An avatar was needed.  


Mankind would bring Pepsi to other worlds. And so Pepsi would come to them in the form of a man.

Faceless, for he represented everyone and nobody, his head a curved mirror to the souls he had come to save.  
The richest businessman, the poorest beggar, the starving and the helpless, the children and the damned, the oppressed and their oppressors: all would see the Truth of themselves in his visage and in that moment be enlightened.

Muscular, tall, a paragon of the human male ideal.  
The image many desired, and one that would command respect and awe, but not the final metamorphosis of his form.  
No, as the people of Earth grew and released the shackles of their own preconceptions, so too would their ideal chance toward something more mercurial and adaptable, countless alternate flavours and rebrandings to reflect the full range of life.

Metallic, hardy and clad in the colours of the Brand.  
Not just for association with the Source, not just a reminder of his Duty, but a promise of the future to come. Iron, copper, steel, aluminium and gold...metal had always been a sign of progress, of strength, of transforming knowledge into greater triumphs over nature.  
Unbending, uncompromising in his resolve and able to endure any hardship. A perfect companion to those who'd bit and clawed and hunted and outran and invented their way out of the constant fight for survival and through sheer stubbornness made their home on this rock hurtling through space.

Speed, a sign of urgency, of care, of commitment to his service.  
And another aspect of the modern world, of the incredible change wrought in such a short span compared to how long it took life and stardust and planets and beasts to come this far, to be people, to be ushering in a new era themselves.  
He had no need to limit himself to moving in just three spatial dimensions of course, and could easily warp space-time to be exactly where he was needed, but the sight of him running brought about a primal reaction. Perhaps it was some lost remnant of Homo Sapiens' hunter-gather past of endurance runner or some deep need to go fast, to break barriers, to go beyond.  


A sense of pain, of empathy.  
  
To be a companion to them, he must do more than take their shape.  
For them to understand him and his message, he must first know them and share their crushing defeats, their hopeful wishes, their fond memories, the loss and frustration, of love and joy.  
By caring he knows who to prioritise, who needs his delivery the most, who are parched in a desert of despair and need to be refreshed on who they truly are, to return to the path they once walked.  
  
And with these illogical, contradictory, chaotic and compulsive emotions, the agent of forces beyond becomes flawed, mortal, able to clumsily run into obstacles and trip.  
  
Humour. Slapstick.  
  
Another connection, to break the ice before giving them the ice-cold good news.  


The secret formula is complete and awaiting final quality-assurance.  
The avatar, the herald, our messenger, the bringer of the next age, saviour of the future and a friend to us all.  


One drop is all it takes. It erases all doubt. He is perfectly suited to the task.  
  
How could he not be? For all that Fate interfered, for all the deities above and beyond may have puppeteered their Grand Design, he is in OUR image. His changing design was penned by mortals.  
His potential may have been engineered by forces beyond our comprehension, but our ability to make him real, to set off that FIZZ, the cosmic bottle cap or ring-pull of change?

Pure. Full-sugar. Unadulterated. Human. Genius. No artificial additives or flavourings, accept not substitutes.

With the choice of a new generation locked in, we truly had something for everyone.  
A hero to refresh the world, to change the script of our dull day-to-day drudgery.  
A new way to play the game, a taste for life, a bolt from the blue.  


_Our child and messiah had a name,_  
_Things would never be the same,_  
_Pepsi for Pizza and TV Game:_

_The one called **Pepsiman** finally came._


	2. Awakening: Born to Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepsiman has been brought into being.
> 
> But like a newborn dragged into the light and sounds of a hospital, the world is strange and terrifying.
> 
> A baby can at least cry out, he has no such luxury.

It was a strange and frightening experience to be disconnected from the Source, from the everywhere and nowhere, to find oneself no longer part of the ever flowing soda stream between this realm and the next.

Physicality. Time. The universal constraints of the prime material plane.

So it was a dazed and bewildered Pepsiman that met humanity on that fateful day.

  
Cut off from the great beyond, struggling to remember, to think, to process. For in the before times his purpose had been so clear, but the sights and sounds and scents of civilisation threatened to overwhelm his senses.

He knew he had to save humanity. Had to help them return to their path of greatness. To forge a better future. To reach the stars.

He had to...

  
...not frighten the people of the city he had woken up in, who were staring at him with various expressions that spanned the whole spectrum of emotion.

  
A pause.

  
And then, for the most part, life in the city continued as normal.

  
It was not a spectacle to them, just some other weirdo in a full skin-tight suit, a PR stunt, obsessive cosplayer or ill-fated attempt at humanoid robotics on a field test.  
For even those closest to the metallic humanoid as he walked down the pavement, those who could see something otherworldly in his movements, in the way his sleek frame reflected a fuller set of colours than the grey urban surroundings; they all said nothing and cast the oddity from their minds, eager to resume their daily routines.

The lies people tell themselves are often easier than facing the truth, after all.

Still, even through his confusion, as he grappled with moving his limbs, with the noise assailing his mind, he could taste their judgement. The bitter flavour of dismissal, the harsh sting of the people of man not recognising their son.

 _Empathy_. The blessing of his makers, but currently his curse.

  
There was so much suffering, so much hate, so much sorrow all bottled up and hidden behind countless masks of decorum and fake smiles.

Anxiety and stress, the weight of guilt and shame, a toxic cocktail that society continued to shake without ever pausing or letting the pressure go.  
A thousand broken souls who no longer had to hunt and fight against Mother Earth to survive, but were slowly but surely dying all the same.

A homeless man sat in the same spot he'd been begging in for the past 6 months.

Had lost his job due to corporate down-sizing as investors chased ever-growing profits. Prejudices from the family meant to support him had him cut off from those who could help, while harsh landlords and cut-throat job markets gave him no time to recover. Medical expenses on top and a dozen other events building on one another, spiralling further and further down, eyes devoid of hope.

They all walked past him without a second glance.

A chatty young lady animatedly exchanged gossip with her circle of friends, but her cheery tone and bright wardrobe hid a heart throbbing raw with the pain of loss, rejection and self-loathing.

Even surrounded by those who could help her, she lacked the ability to open up, lacked the self-worth to save herself. Every laugh rang hollow as the mask continued to crack, but nobody noticed.

An elderly married couple sat on a nearby bench, clearly still in love and treated as a cute scene by the passers by as they fed the pigeons and reminisced together.

How was it that two people who loved each other so strongly could chill and steel their hearts against their own daughter for carrying just as much love for her girlfriend? The gentle, caring souls that volunteered their days at community events and the local church but could spare nothing but malice for their own flesh and blood.

A thousand **broken** souls and countless more.

  
When had it started to rain? How long had he wandered, lost and confused, afraid and sickened?

Despite having no visible eyes or facial features, Pepsiman glanced up at the angry clouds above.  
Through a partial break in the cloud cover the sun tries valiantly to shed some light and colour on this sorry monochrome state of a settlement.

If anybody cared to stop, if anybody cared to look, perhaps the brightest eyes would spot the faintest rainbow in the sea of grey.

If anybody listened a little harder, if you could bother to give them the time of day, maybe you'd have seen the light in the dark, the rainbow through the rain: the brave and wilful voices shouting defiance against the status quo.

The success stories of humanity, the everyday heroes whose praises went unsung, the rebels who still kept their inner child, who held onto their ideals in a world of pragmatism and exploitation.

Pepsiman did not hear them. Did not see them. Could not taste the vibrant and varied delights that he adored about his makers.

A metal man in a jungle of concrete and alloys. Alone. Surrounded by that which he could not yet understand.

This was not Humanity. This was not his People. This was not _The Joy of Cola_ or the _Taste of the Summer_.

  
So he began to run.

Even he did not know what he was running from, whether it was truly the horrors that surrounded him or his own inability to do a damn thing about it.

Each step was heavy, each pump of his arms furious, each person he passed just another blur as the world around him ceased to matter. Clanging of his feet, the harsh feel of the pavement, the damaged potholes of the roads, the soft feel of grass soaked in dewdrops.

He stopped seeing. He stopped hearing. He stopped smelling the pungent acrid air of the city.  
  


Faster and faster, a seven-fold array of complex mechanisms acting as his heart, pumping and pulsing and burning. The slosh of fluids, the fizz of carbonated liquid, his constantly-refrigerated skin getting just a little hotter.  
  
Condensation on his surface, not sweat but not quite the same as a chilled can either.  
A blur of thrashing limbs, the throbbing in his temples, a sprinting figure that could outpace even the vehicles of the motorway, but not the truth of this world.

Was it all gone? Had he escaped? Nobody knew, least of all himself, so he kept dashing.

Time had no meaning to him. Few things did.  
But running? That felt good. Familiar.  
Like something he was meant to do.

The inhuman manifestation of an era yet to come had no endorphins, no biological history of chasing prey to exhaustion, no exercise high. But still the sprint lifted his spirits, crazed and blind as he may have been.

  
Until suddenly the world was brought back into focus with a brief slow-motion appraisal of the situation.

  
Pepsiman would have blinked if he could, miles away from any town or city and now aware of a distant but resounding THUD as his foot connected with a rock hidden in the dirt.

Senses returning to him, the collision had sent shockwaves through his frame even as he lurched forward, off balance, arms flailing.  
His first coherent thought before everything came crashing down was that this was his first time seeing a tree and he was about to get quite familiar with this particular specimen.

An almighty crash reverberated as the avatar of Pepsi tripped and fell head-first into a tree.

  
 **Pain**.

  
Standing on one knee, a hand comes to his head as a small hole appears in his face (or lack thereof).  
The newly-formed facial feature lets out an aggravated sound before closing, leaving his head smooth and seamless once more.

A mixture of fire and lightning flaring up within his nerves, together they force him to slump down against the tree and take stock of his surroundings: a grassy hill in the apparent middle of nowhere.

Slapstick comedy. How right his makers were to make him flawed, to make him clumsy!

For now his chest was rising and falling, silvery body vibrating with what he realised was now laughter, a spark of joy warring with the dull throb in his foot and skull.

 

Although Pepsiman had come into existence earlier today, it was only here as he sat on damp earth and stared to the horizon that he felt he was truly in the here and now.

The rain had stopped. The area was quiet. And his heart beat with newly-found resolve.

Only with his gaze capturing the full resplendence of the rainbow did he now feel aware.

Fists clenched, Pepsiman embraced the reality of the world around him, of all the good and bad and countless shades between: of struggles and sacrifice, of spite and the selfless.

  
His purpose certain: the People needed him. They needed hope. They needed **Pepsi**.  
  
As for himself?

The Herald had _awakened_.

And he was **born to run**.


	3. Sprint: Another News Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sightings spread, his work reported, but what will Humanity make of his deeds, will the media present him as their champion or their scapegoat?
> 
> Never lose sight of your goal. Each mad dash brings the finish line a little closer to view.

 

"Tonight, on Channel 5 News: there have been a string of bizarre reports of an individual or group of individuals wearing a metallic bodysuit sprinting through urban centres around the world and distributing cans of Pepsi cola. What was originally assumed to be a strange form of advertising was refuted when PepsiCo denied involvement in-"

A brief moment of static and a flicker of light as the channel is changed, the TV acting as the sole illumination in a room dark and full of long shadows that seem to stretch out into tomorrow.

"-there's just no way a single person could appear in so many different places seemingly at once, they have to be a coordinated group, but what motives do they have? Besides giving people drinks, they've been seen rescuing cats from trees, dashing to save pedestrians from being run over and, well, that's the other thing: they're all so fast, like olympic sprinter fast, it's gotta be an _inside job_ to distract us from-"

A derisive snort cuts off the latest conspiracy nut, before a press of the remote flicks through the channels once again, silencing any further insight they may have had.

"...and that's why this so-called 'Pepsi Man' is a menace to society. We can't let **freaks** run around rampant like this, they're exactly what's wrong with this country today, kids wasting their time with weird pranks instead of getting a job and-"

Sunken eyes stare at the television, as channel after channel are sorted through, information sorted and dissected before being discarded.

"-you really think it's possible the _Soda Pop Runner_ could be in league with AntiFa?"

"PepsiCo stocks have skyrocketed as a result of recent events, leading many to be dubious of the company's claims to be uninvolved, but with the product now associated with an apparent crime-fighting, re-hydrating, homeless-helping vigilante, this real-world mascot seems to bring widespread audience appeal and a drastic boost in sales of the newly re-released Crystal Pepsi in international markets. How the brand will fare long-term remains to be seen, as past marketing efforts have often been used against the company by their rivals or have left a bad taste in the Millennial demographic-"

With a sigh, they get up and turn the TV off, joints aching and floorboard creaking. This is one mystery that's not being solved in one night.

"Just who...or what are you, Pepsiman?"

  
He had started small, doing what came naturally to him: running and quenching people's thirst.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, most people's initial reactions to a large muscular man of metal charging straight at them or refilling a bar patron's empty glasses with New And Improved Cherry Pepsi MAX was not gratitude, but often fear and anger.

Still, Pepsiman persevered and persisted, learning more and more of his maker's social expectations and how best to approach matters without making a given scenario worse for his presence rather than better.  
Lacking the gift of speech, and only able to make a limited series of noises with his "mouth" (usually to express pain or when using his powers to provided **UNLIMITED REFILLS** ), he soon learned how to be approachable and put people at ease solely through body language.

And for a time this was enough.

He may have been served from the Source, but the dim memory of once being part of the ever-fizzing soda stream of fate was enough to always be there when someone was thirsty.

Doing late-night studying and need some caffeine? Pepsiman would be there.  
A boiling hot day doing physical labour at your dead-end job? Pepsiman would be there.  
Want to crack open a cold one with the boys? Pepsiman would be there.  
Diabetic and low on blood sugar? Pepsiman would be there, with your choice of Diet Pepsi or Pepsi MAX.

It was a start, but something felt _lacking_ , the rot and decay of modern society was still everywhere, and no matter how many cans, glasses or bottles of Pepsi the Herald gifted upon the people of man, the Next Generation still felt so far away...

  
Maybe it was pure chance that he was in the right place at the right time, or maybe it was destined, but he had paused his relentless running to provide drinks for a BBQ when he heard it.

The sound of an engine roaring down the road, a child's footsteps, the screeching of brakes applied all too late.

An instant later the child who'd seen their death approaching was safely on the other side of the road, heart-pounding but otherwise none the worse for wear as the car crashed into the saviour who'd pushed them out of danger.

Airbags deploy. A bumper dents. The driver shaken and with a damaged vehicle but uninjured.  
A humanoid figure clutches over, face impacted flat, an odd hissing sound emerging from them.

Pepsiman pays little heed to the angry driver upset at the damage to their car or the child who runs off to home, simply taking a few moments to pop out any dents and damage, realisation lighting up his mind and a new world of insights now open to him.

Yes, this is what the Herald would do, he would serve and uplift his makers, and to truly spread the message of Pepsi he would become their hero.

Energised by the possibilities, a sugar rush of justice and altruism, the messiah of mankind would once again run.

  
Where once he stopped to give the homeless a drink, he now provided food and shelter.

Where ever there was danger or disaster, from fires to collapsing buildings to earthquakes, he was there, dashing from nation to nation, running along the ocean's waves like an ice cube bobbing in a fizzy drink.

Where he once gave the diabetic sugar-free drinks, he now served them free insulin, bypassing the absurd price markups in some countries.

Where there was once just a running man and sugary sweet caffeinated elixirs, there was now a champion to help bring humanity to the stars.

Where the extremists, nationalists and domestic terrorists tried to rally and gather, they would be knocked flying by a man charging through their ranks, metal fists seeking retribution against Nazis and mass shooters alike.

Where once he ran to avoid looking to much at the darkness of the world, he now ran to directly address it.

  
With each deed, the mistrust and suspicion of this otherworldly outsider fades away.

With each deed, the downtrodden and the oppressed dare to hope.

With each deed, another **news cycle** , another frantic **sprint** to his _next mission_.

But no matter how hard he runs or what he accomplishes, he cannot escape the nagging **doubt** that there's only so much a single Pepsiman can do...


End file.
